Lessons in Revenge: I’ll Set My Toddler Loose on You
Little Boo is an early riser, so by 8:00 a.m., he’s so totally ready to jet out of the house. Nice for him. Not for me. Sure, I’m showered and dressed, but 8:00 a.m.? Really?
Lucky for me, a few choice stores are open that early, so we hit up Target one morning last week. After finishing up there, we hit Dick’s Sporting Goods in the same plaza. I had a mission to find a certain pair of running sneakers. I knew exactly what I wanted; I didn’t even need to try them on.
I scooped up Boo, got him in the store, and was so confident after a succesful (dare I say, enjoyable) trip through Target, I even set him down on the floor to walk around by himself. Oh yeah, I was that bold. Or guilty. (I always feel a little guilty that he’s not getting enough exercise. But if it wasn’t that, I’d feel guilty about something else. That morning, it was exercise.) So I set Boo down and made a game out of getting to the back of the store to the footwear section. Why the back of the store? Why?
Boo did great. He “ran” all the way back there and didn’t even grab at all the footwear, though I know the cleats intrigued him. Obviously I was feeling like a rock star mom: Boo was getting a little “running” in, we made it through the store, and he was behaving himself. This was going so well!
And then there wasn’t a salesperson in sight. Not a one. I grabbed the sneaker I wanted, called out hello?! about eight times, and became increasingly frustrated. This was going well. Stupid Dick’s Sporting Goods.
In an effort to maintain the gremlin’s cheer, I pointed out the mini-track that loops around the footwear displays. Listen, if this kid’s going to college, it’s going to be on scholarship, looks, or pure charm. We need to start developing skills, dammit. Boo wasn’t down with the track, but became quite interested in pilfering sneakers.
Finally, a salesperson shows up and says Are you all set?
Am I all set? Do I look all set? Do you not see the 17-month-old running around? How about me standing here with a sneaker in my hand? All set?
Me: Well, I need some help.
Her: What do you need? (Bored by my presence and ignoring my kid. Sales 101: Never ignore the kid.)
Me: Do you have these in a ten and a half? (I know…I have big feet.)
Her: It’d be an eleven. It doesn’t come in half-sizes.
Me: Really? ‘Cause I just got these same ones in a different color somewhere else. (Yes, I was becoming a smartass. Okay, more of a smartass. And yes, I was actually considering exchanging the ones I’d purchased because I’d found a cuter color. What can I say? I’m me.)
Her: Well, we don’t carry them. (Snotty McSnotty Pants)
Me: Right, you don’t carry them. (Which, incidentally, is funny because they do, in fact, sell them online. Chica doesn’t know her stuff.) Okay, thanks.
McSnotty Pants mumbles something I forget and walks away.
Remember that toddler running around? Well, he’d stopped and plopped himself down. In the middle of the track. To poop. In his cutest I’m-a-toddler-and-you-can’t-really-see-me-sitting-here-trying-to-poop. Except my face is turning red. And I’m concentrating really hard.
And forgive me, I truly thought Good boy! Poop and stink up the joint! Go get ’em, tiger! Come to think of it, screw those good manners. Create havoc! Mayhem! Toddler, have at it! The store is your playground!
And then I caught myself before the words flew from my mouth. Here I was, a grown woman, practically ready to unleash my toddler and encourage poor behavior…for revenge. Who am I?! What have I become?!
Ahem…but I didn’t. Snotty McSnotty Pants, you did not win. Maybe I had to get my son to “run” and pretend he was catching me to give me hugs just to get him back to the front of the store (man, that store is huge, but how cute is that, really). You did not win, Snotty. Mama prevailed. Boo prevailed. Manners intact, thank you very much. So there.